Redoubt

by Alex Janaway

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The attack came three hours later. The fire trench was now nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle to progress. As Forge had guessed, the assault came from two fronts. The mantlets were pushed up to the trench line from the south, whilst from the north the remaining Shifter archers took up positions in the tree line. Behind them could be heard, if not seen, a large body of men. There appeared to be a great deal of cheering and chanting going on from the Harradan. Clearly the bastards were in good spirits before the fight. Forge himself was standing on the southern wall to the right of the gate. As he watched the mantlets move up he glanced around the fort and took in his dispositions.

  On the northern walls, he had stationed Kely, a small handful of Ashkent troops and the surviving Bantusai. Their arrows were more useful over short distances anyway. And thanks to the tower they had less wall frontage to defend. Both doorways into the tower from that northern wall would be kept open for as long as possible. On the top of the tower he had placed Holis and his three surviving companions. As civilians he still felt an obligation to at least to try and protect them even if it was only to keep them safe for a little while longer. Besides, regardless of the mayhem they had caused for the Harradan, they were not really fighting men. Their talents lay in their shooting skills. Stationed up there they could draw a bead on both sides of the fort and when their arrows and crossbow bolts ran out they could dump rocks as good as the next man. He was tempted to put Corporal Jonas up there too, but decided against it. He was too good a knife man to leave out of the defence of the walls. He had split his own archers, now ten in number thanks to the extra bows, on either side of the southern wall. A further ten men stood to on either side to engage the enemy. Down below Sergeant Mac had a flying squad of six men to plug any gaps. The remaining Ashkent troops were placed upon the eastern and western walls. Whilst the walls on these sides were longer and the manpower worryingly thin upon them, Forge expected less pressure there, at least in the initial stages. Forge glanced down at Sergeant Mac. The man was stood looking implacable by the front of the gate chewing a plug of tobacco. He looked back up and shifted his weight. He rubbed is aching leg. That was really going to be useful in the coming fight. Not that he had ever been a graceful fighter but he had always relied upon a certain momentum to get his hits in. He guessed he’d just have to rely now on brute arm strength.

  The assault was announced by a flurry of arrows against the north wall. A few drifted into the courtyard and one landed not one foot away from Forge. The soldier next to him grinned and Forge gave him his best scowl back. A shout from the north wall told him that men were now moving against it; the Bantusai were up and firing. He quickly turned his attention back to his own front. The mantlets were right up against the fire trench.

  “Ready to pour it on lads,” he ordered. His men stood and drew their bows. A cry came from the Harradans and the mantlets were pushed onto the trench. Forge hadn’t quite expected that. A handy ramp for them. With a collective roar the Harradan charged across.

  “Fire!” Forge shouted. His men began to loose shaft after shaft at the charging enemy. At such a close range it was hard not to miss and many men tumbled and fell. Those that followed simply pushed them to one side or ran across the bodies in their haste to get to the wall. Behind the first wave came men bearing crude ladders. Nothing more than small trunks with horizontal branches tied to either side. Such was the height of the wall that numbers were better than quality. These ladders quickly gained the base of the wall and were pushed into place. He counted at least a score on the southern wall alone. He saw more lapping around the sides. Then his attention was drawn back to more immediate concerns as men began to climb the ladders whilst his own people tried to push them away. Immediately in front of Forge a head appeared over the top of the wall and he thrust his sword into the face of the Harradan. The long day’s killing had begun.

  On top of the tower Lode fired an arrow into a Shifter archer who had emerged from behind a tree and had been taking aim. He was getting quite a tally of these guys. Whilst Juggs and Fuzz were busy firing into the melee below, he and Old Hoarty had decided to keep the pressure on the archers in the trees. Having fired he ducked down behind the screen of stone and heaved back on his crossbow. Old Hoarty was stood by him, his own weapon resting on the stone wall. The solid surface kept it steady and Old Hoarty lined up another shot. Whilst the archers below kept up a greater rate of fire, the two trappers had greater accuracy and could aim and fire before a bowman could get a good enough bead on them. Old Hoarty fired and swore. He quickly ducked and sat next to Lode.

  “Missed. Reckon them bastards are getting wise to us. Moved back into the bushes ‘fore I could hit ‘im.”

  “Sure you didn’t,” he paused and grunted with effort as he put the bow string into place. “Just miss?”

  “Less of the lip, young fella.”

  Lode laughed and turned and stood up to fire again. As he scanned for targets he saw that the Shifter troops had moved position and had fallen back along the tree line to the west. It gave them more cover but they could still put fire into the fort. Instead he tilted his weapon and fired into the press of figures below. The attack on the side was being held. A whole mass of Harradan had come crashing through the woods and had swept right over the fire trench with arrow fire following them in. The Bantusai had gotten off several volleys before battle was joined at the walls. A large number of Harradan were left in the fifty yards of no mans land between the wood and the wall. The fighting was fierce but the speed of the tribesmen meant they could hold their length of wall easily. But their numbers were being whittled down by the constant nagging of enemy fire and Lode wandered how much longer they could hold.

  “Hoarty, might as well start picking off climbers. We can’t do much more against their archers.”

  “Righto.”

  As he sat back down to reload he saw that he was down to his last three bolts. Old Hoarty had about half a dozen.

  He wondered where Lissa was, whether she might be watching him even now. It gave him on odd feeling in his stomach. All the old wounds had been opened and yet, seeing her, seeing what see had become had caused a strange feeling of detachment. It felt that maybe the woman he had known was dead. The Captain had approached him about the meeting and Lode and given him the shortened story of his life. The man had scratched his chin and looked up at the sky and then asked “Don’t s’pose she wants to switch sides?” Lode shrugged in response. “Ah, well. Worth a try.” The Captain then reached over, patted him on the shoulder and said “Good job last night. Gutsy.” He had then wandered off, leaving Lode feeling bemused.

  “Hey, Holis. Watch this!” said Fuzz.

  Looking up he saw Juggs and Fuzz, who had both run out of arrows, heave a large stone into the mass of Harradan to the left of the tower.

  “That’s for Sleeps you bastards!” she called down and then laughed manically to herself as he went for another rock off the pile. Lode figured he would be humping those stones in a minute or two.

 

  Sergeant Pike was killed on the western wall. An arrow lodged in his throat. Sergeant Mac ran to where the body had collapsed. There was a look of surprise in the quartermaster’s face. Sergeant Mac had always figured the man would die of a stroke. He was always far too fond of his own greasy cooking. Looking around he tried to gage the tide of the battle. As it stood, the Harradan were still pressing on the north and south walls and had committed less to the sides. They were holding their own. The longer the northerners were held back from gaining a foothold, the harder it became for them. As the dead gathered at the foot of the walls, they encumbered those waiting to climb. Almost in recognition of this a horn sounded. It came from the south. Forge took a moment to pull his sword from the body of a Harradan and then forced the dead man off the rampart. He looked up at the sound of the horn. The Harradan were pulling back to th
e encampment to the south, no doubt a chance for them to regroup before renewing the assault. At least it gave him a chance to rest up for a few moments. He leaned against the wall and watched the enemy withdraw. Sergeant Mac joined him and passed over a waterskin. Forge nodded his thanks and took several long gulps. He turned and looked towards the tower. A figure, which looked like Old Hoarty, waved at him. Forge snorted.

  “So how we holding up, Sergeant?” he asked his companion.

  Sergeant Mac scratched his nose for a few moments and then nodded his head appreciatively. “Not too bad. Loads of bodies.”

  “Our losses?”

  “Oh, a dozen or so.”

  “That all?” Forge was surprised.

  “Yeah. Good job we had the Bantusai. They really get into the spirit of the thing.”

  “So, reckon they’ll try for the walls again or concentrate?”

  “Ah, well, what with our manpower situation, reckon they can do pretty much what they like.”

  “True,” agreed Forge.

  “Still, boss,” Sergeant Mac slapped him on the back, “we did what we set out to do. Way I see it, those boys out there are here purely to finish the job on us. They won’t be heading south.”

  Forge looked at his old friend and smiled. “Going down fighting and saving the day by doing it,” he grunted ruefully. “Never thought of ourselves as heroes Mac.”

  Sergeant Mac smiled back. “We ain’t sir. We’re professionals.”

  Another horn call drew their attention to outside the walls.

  Forge’s heart sank at the sight. Rolling forwards was a hastily constructed ram. It was nothing more than a large tree trunk that had been crudely sharpened at its end. It was being pushed forward on wheels and had been tied onto an axle. No doubt one of the enemy’s own supply wagons had been dismantled for this. Easy enough to do with their manpower. They must have moved it during the night because he was damned if any of his men had noticed it and they sure as hell didn’t get any other wagon parts across after Lode and Jonas had cut up their bridge. A whole gang of Harradan were manoeuvring it over the fire trench across yet another ramp they had thrown across it. Forge had hoped they might get a respite; that the Harradan might pause before renewing the attack. No chance of that now. He had to hand it to whoever was leading this mob. For all the blocks and delays Forge had thrown against him this guy knew how to conduct a siege. And he feared it might be coming to an end very soon.

  “Sir,” said Sergeant Mac.

  “Yes?”

  “See you later,” Sergeant Mac held out his hand and Forge gripped it tightly. The grizzled soldier nodded, let go and headed for the courtyard. Forge watched him go with an odd feeling in his stomach. He shook his head, now wasn’t the time. He watched the ram cross the fire trench.

  “Shoot those bastards!” he ordered his surviving archers who weren’t already engaged. The ram had cleared the trench and was now beginning to pick up speed as it charged towards the gate. A few arrows flew towards it hitting a couple of its crew. There were plenty more to take their place.

  Down below Sergeant Mac also watched the ram heading towards him. For all that this gate was sturdily built he feared it wouldn’t stand up to much punishment. He stood his small squad a few yards from the gate

  “Right, lads. Steady. When it hits. Hold your position. Wait for it to break through. When it does don’t wait for them. We charge straight in. Catch them off balance and kill as many as you can.”

  His men nodded and stood their ground. They looked tense and anxious. Sergeant Mac was not surprised and he didn’t blame them. It was a hard thing knowing that soon you were going to die. But they didn’t run. That was what counted. That’s why they were soldiers.

  The ram smashed against the gate with a heavy thud. The wooden structure shuddered and creaked but did not give. Sergeant Mac shouted up at Captain Forge.

  “Sir. Time to pull back.”

  “I know!” he shouted back. But he didn’t give the order. If they withdrew now, that would be it. They would be back in that tower. It suddenly seemed more like a death trap. Below him the ram was being pulled back for another run. There were no more arrows left to fire at it. It appeared that the assault on the south wall had lost its momentum. Both sides were waiting for the inevitable outcome. The ram picked up speed again and with a roar the Harradan threw all their strength into the last few yards of the charge.

  “Sir, now!” shouted Sergeant Mac.

  Forge dragged himself out of his indecision. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Pull back. Everyone back to the tower!”

  As he shouted the ram smashed into the gate again. This time the wooden barricade did not hold. With a loud crack and a hail of splinters the ram and its carriage continued its path through and into the courtyard. With a battle cry Sergeant Mac and his men charged into the Harradan who were clustered at the gaping hole left by the passage of the ram. Many had continued pushing it from the rear and they found themselves in the centre of the courtyard. Before they could cause mischief Lode and his friends burst out of the tower entrance and engaged them. Old Hoarty swung his crossbow connecting with the face of a Harradan. Lode threw a knife into the throat of another. In the melee an axe to his back killed Fuzz. All around the ramparts Forge’s men tried to disengage from the fighting. Those at the front with him leapt from walkway and down into the courtyard. Some got caught in the fighting at the gate whilst others ran straight for the tower. Forge launched himself onto the back of Harradan below him. He knocked the man to the floor, grabbed him by his hair and then butted his head into the ground. Pushing himself up, he parried a sword stroke to his right following it up with a left hook to the face of his assailant. As the man took the blow and turned to his side Forge got two hands to his sword and swung it around and up. The man’s head snapped back as the weapon connected and he fell to the ground. Forge saw he had space and started to hobble to the wagon barricade by the tower door. To his left and right on the ramparts he could see that Harradan had gained the walls and his men were slowly getting pushed back along them. On the west wall they were already cut off from reaching the tower on their level by a fierce fight on the northern section.

  “Jump down. Form a line on me. Get the fucking tower doors shut!” he ordered.

  Some of the men on the western wall jumped down and ran to Forge. Others were cut down as they tried to do so. He could see his defences were collapsing quickly. They had to control their fall back or they would lose it completely.

  On the north wall the western tower door was shut and barred whilst a lone Bantusai held off a determined assault along the walkway. He skewered the first man with his spear, withdrew it and whipped its end round to smash into the helmet of the next. A Harradan spear then took him in the stomach. The eastern side was faring better as there was less pressure by the Harradan. Privates Smitty and Thom slowly backed down the rampart keeping the attackers at bay. Smitty swung his large broadsword knocking aside any Harradan that charged down walkway. Behind him Thom battered any of them that tried to climb over the wall.

  Thom looked behind him and saw they were the last on the wall and the doorway was open. Kely beckoned them forwards. He turned and slapped Smitty on the shoulder.

  “C’mon mate. Time to go.”

  As he did so a Harradan leapt onto the walkway behind Thom. Kely shouted and as Thom turned, the Harradan buried his shortsword deep into him. Smitty swung round and seeing his friend collapsing onto his knees, he screamed and hacked savagely at the Harradan. As the northman fell to the ground, Smitty knelt beside his friend. Thom was already dead. He swore savagely, picked up his sword and smashed it into another northman who was following behind the first.

  “Come on then, you bastards. Come on!” he screamed as tears rolled down his face.

  He almost killed Kely as the big black man pulled him back towards the doorway.

 
“Your friend is dead. You are not,” said the Bantusai firmly.

  Smitty struggled at first. His grief and anger were overwhelming him but the Bantusai continued to drag him back. He gave in and followed Kely through the doorway.

  Together they closed and barred the hatch.

  In the courtyard Forge and a few others withdrew back to the tower. They reached the wagons where above them men already stood. One by one they slipped into the gap between the tower and the barricade. Forge got through and mounted the fighting step. It was then that he saw Sergeant Mac and three others were still engaged at the gateway. They were slowly getting pushed back and were being overlapped as the Harradan spread out and were joined by others. Forge watched helplessly as Sergeant Mac shouted at them to withdraw. But it was too late. Already Harradan were behind them and their escape route was blocked. One by one he watched his men fall until only Sergeant Mac and one other remained. His senses screamed at him to charge out and help his friend but he couldn’t. He had to stay and take charge, just like the First Sergeant would do in his place. Sergeant Mac’s companion was felled, in response he turned and thrust his sword into the man’s killer. As he did so he was swept to the ground by the rush of Harradan. Forge could not see Sergeant Mac but witnessed the rise and fall of half a dozen blades as they hacked down.

  “No!” Forge howled in despair.

  The rush of Harradan reached the wagon barricade. The Ashkent soldiers stabbed down at the northerners as they tried to get round. The Harradan could not get through the gap as the first two who tried fell to the defending swords. They then took to trying to pull the wagons down whilst others with spears tried to pierce the defenders if they strayed too far over the top of their barricade. There was almost no shouting as men stabbed and hacked. The sound of steel on steel and the battering of wood was all that could be heard. The men were too intent and too weary, all their energy went into surviving. Try as they might the Harradan could not get enough hands on the wagons to pull them over without getting stabbed for their trouble. Forge lost himself for a time. All he could think of was his friend. Laying out in the courtyard. Hacked to pieces. And so in turn he hacked and battered and bloodied any that came near his place on the barricade. He didn’t care what was happening around him. He didn’t care that he was supposed to be giving orders. He just sweated and heaved and continued to stab and slice. He did not immediately notice the sound of the horn or that the Harridan were withdrawing. He slowly registered the withdrawal only when his sword kept stabbing at thin air. He then looked up and wiped the sweat from his eyes. The Harradan pulled back to the gateway and then went through it. He watched them go. He then realised that that he was breathing hard. He felt the damp, sweaty clothes and armour he wore. He also felt how damn tired he was. Looking about him he saw that the barricade had held. On the ground before it were a pile of bodies. Some still moved and others were crawling, trying to drag themselves back out of the fort. He tried to pick out the spot where Sergeant Mac had fallen but in the midst of the carnage, he could not distinguish between the Ashkent uniforms and the Harradan tartan. He then, finally, looked to his men. He counted five still standing; two down below by the gap and three with him up on the step. A further three were dead on the floor. Five, tired, sweating men who wear breathing hard and gazing out at the battlefield just as he had done. He touched the nearest soldier who turned sharply, a wild look in his eyes.

  “Sir?”

  “All right lad. Take it easy. Let me know when they come back.”

  “Yes Sir.” The soldier nodded, took a deep breath and turned his gaze back to the gates.

  Forge stepped down. Passing the two who had defended the gap he noted that one was now propped up against the wall of the tower. The other crouched by him holding a water bottle. The first man was clutching his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers, a slow, fatal wound. The man would not survive. The soldier looked up at Forge. His eyes said it all; a grim resignation. The man knew. Forge knelt, clasped the hand of the soldier and locked gazes. The soldier tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement. Forge gave his hand a tight squeeze, reached out and gripped the man’s shoulder. He then stood and walked into the Tower. Inside he found two more wounded soldiers. One was still standing, a rag tied to his arm. The other lay in a corner, a bandage wrapped round his head. He nodded to both of them and walked stiffly up the stairs, his leg still paining him. On the next level he found Kely sitting with three Bantusai and Private Smitty. He indicated for Kely to follow him. He stood and the two climbed to the top of the tower. There he found Corporal Jonas, the trappers and two more of his men. The soldiers were busy working loose some of the stones of the parapet.

  “Just getting some more ammo sir,” said Corporal Jonas.

  “Looks like you are the only noncom left, Jonas.”

  “Looks that way,” Corporal Jonas replied.

  Forge gazed absently at the scene around him. The sun was warm, smoke still drifted up from parts of the fire trench. He could see birds flying in the distance.

  He looked down at the river and followed it down to where the bridge had been. The skeleton of it still stood there, much of the rampway that Lode and Jonas had worked on had not collapsed into the river. But enough had gone to make it impossible to get across in its present state. The Harradan had obviously not bothered to repair it during the night.

  “Got any arrows left?”

  “One.”

  “One?”

  “My lucky arrow.”

  “Why’s it lucky?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve never fired it. And I’m not dead yet.”

  “Okay.”

  He looked over at the trappers. It had only just occurred to him that there were only three of them now.

  “I see you’re still here old timer,” he said.

  Old Hoarty grunted and grinned his one-toothed smile. “Life in the old dog yet.”

  Forge smiled back and turned his gaze back towards the southern end of the clearing. Lode stood up and joined Forge.

  “What now?” the younger man asked.

  Forge looked at the fur trapper who had given up on a chance of life to stay and fight, then at Corporal Jonas and at Kely who stood a little way behind them. The de facto leadership of what was left of his little coalition.

  He gestured for them to follow his gaze. Forming up were the Harradan. A whole line of them stood just on the far side of the fire trench. He could see a few figures down by the encampment of the night before but the main force was gathered before the fort.

  “How many do you reckon we killed then?” asked Forge.

  “Many,” remarked Kely.

  “Three, four hundred maybe?” said Corporal Jonas.

  “Not bad,” said Lode.

  “Yeah, not bad,” agreed Forge. “A thousand more would have been nice.”

  “Wouldn’t have hurt,” said Lode. “Saw something interesting though. Just before they pulled back I saw a whole bunch of ‘em break off and head south.”

  Forge raised an eyebrow. “Reckon we actually caused a split in their command structure.”

  “Well , we ain’t seen ‘em come back yet Captain,” said Lode.

  Corporal Jonas squinted and looked to the south. “Reckon he could be right. That mass of men looks a lot smaller than it was.”

  “So, maybe we might have halved their numbers,” Forge mused.

  “Which means they ain’t strong enough to march south boss.”

  “Looks that way,” Forge agreed. He turned and smiled at Lode. “Looks like you were right lad. I think we just stopped the invasion.”

  “Nice work, Holis,” said Old Hoarty. “Now what?”

  “Well, I would have suggested we pull out and go hide somewhere ‘til they go away. But,” Forge gestured to the scene in front of him. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

  “Least we fucked ‘em up,” said Lode
.

  Forge grunted. “Oh, we did that. Corporal Jonas?”

  “Boss?”

  “Go and let the boys know. Tell them we did what we had to do. We stopped ‘em. Cold comfort but at least it’ll have been worthwhile.” Forge wondered if he actually believed that.

  Vorgat was furious. During the last assault an entire clan had broken off and headed south. Three hundred men! No doubt they planned to swim the river and head back north. Damn their bastard, cowardly hides. He had called off the attack to try and restore order, lest the other two remaining clans joined the flight. If they hadn’t cut and run he would have taken that damn tower. It was ready to fall. The implication was not lost on him. If those fleeing got back to their own lands before him, they would spread the word of Vorgat’s actions. The remaining clans would not trust him or his intentions. On his return he would no doubt find his own people put to the sword and their lands razed to the ground. Not to mention a force of men ready to challenge him. He had no time. It must end now. All deception was over. He immediately confronted the two other clan chiefs. His own men still outnumbered theirs combined and they quickly swore fealty to save their own skins. It was clear he was in no mood for politics. The Shifter officer now approached him. The man wore a sad, resigned smile.

  “Vorgat Stoneson. Our game is done. No doubt you plan to kill me and my remaining men?” asked Lordswood.

  “No doubt.”

  “Well, I cannot stop that. But if we are all to die, perhaps you might permit us to do so in action?”

  Vorgat was surprised. Was this fool finally showing some backbone?

  “I have a score to settle with the southerners. I would see it through to the end. Whatever you decide to do after that,” the officer shrugged and sighed deeply, “is up to you. It makes no difference to me.”

  “Very well then, go and prepare your men for the attack.”

  The officer inclined his head in thanks and departed. Vorgat unsheathed his sword. He would take the head of the enemy leader himself.

  Forge watched as down below a group of men ran forward of the main force. As they entered the courtyard they became recognizable as the last of the Shifter archers, about a dozen in total. They spilt and climbed onto the walkways.

  “Sir!” shouted the soldier from below.

  “Get back inside,” Forge shouted down. “And close the door after you.”

  He watched as the men quickly withdrew into the tower. The soldier with the stomach wound did not go with them.

  “No point in trying to hold that now. As soon as they put their heads up they’d get shot.”

  “Want me to use my lucky arrow?” asked Corporal Jonas.

  “Might as well.”

  “I guess your relief isn’t coming then,” said Lode. It wasn’t a question.

  “Guess not.”

  Once the archers were in place the Harradan moved forward. A large body of them moved into the courtyard and ran at the barricade. The first man to reach it was struck down by Corporal Jonas’s lucky arrow. The watchers on the tower then ducked as the archers fired a few speculative shots at them. They didn’t really need to see what was going on anyway. They could hear the wagons being pushed over and dragged away. A quick look by Forge confirmed that they were dismantling the battering ram. The slope on which the tower was built meant that the ram wouldn’t reach it on the wagon.

  “Right gents,” he announced. “I’m downstairs if you need me.”

  He stood up, oblivious to any missile fire and walked down the steps. Kely followed after him. On the second floor Forge stopped and spoke to the men gathered there.

  “I expect they will try and force through these doors eventually. Hold them as long as you can then get upstairs to the top.” He looked at Private Smitty then at Kely. “Good luck.”

  He then continued down to the bottom floor and stood in front of his men. He looked at the walking wounded soldier and gestured at his sitting companion. “You get him up to the top floor. Fresh air will do you good.”

  The standing soldier bent down and helped the other up. The pair then struggled up the stairs. Forge watched them go then turned to the four remaining men. “As for the rest of you. They’re going to try and break through the doorway. That’ll slow the bastards down and give us the advantage. We’ll keep ‘em from getting in just like at the barricade okay?”

  His men nodded grimly and readied their weapons, whilst outside they heard voices and movement. A few moments later and they could hear the sound of many feet coming towards them. From up above they heard a warning shout. Not that it mattered as a moment later the door shuddered from the impact of several hundred pounds of wood hitting it at speed. Again and again the ram hit the doorway, the angle making the barrier harder to breach. On the fifth attempt it finally gave way. The log was pulled back and Harradan tried to force their way through. Forge and his men went to meet them. The first few to approach the entrance were quickly despatched thanks to the tight space and blades of the Ashkent soldiers. As the press of men grew Forge and his men started to give ground. Spears were thrust through the doorway and were deflected by shields and blades. It was a frantic dance and the sound of metal and wood merged with the grunts and cursing of men as both side sought a way through the confused mess. One of the troops reeled away screaming with a spear point thrust into his belly. A Harradan, beard matted with blood, charged inside batting away the swords of the Ashkent men and threw himself barehanded at Forge. The two of the fell to the floor with Forge’s own blade thrust up into the groin of the squealing northman. He quickly rolled away and got to his feet. Another Harradan ran at him with a hand axe, Forge stepped in close under the swing and rammed his sword home. He followed it up with a swift head-butt before pulling his sword free. He heard the sound of stones being hurled from above and Jonas shouting for people to duck. No doubt to avoid the archers ranged along the wall. Forge was breathing hard but he had some respite to survey the scene. The attack was faltering. Where once the door hatch had blocked the entrance, now the bodies of the dead Harradan provided a new chokepoint. It was becoming too difficult and dangerous to mount an effective charge. His three remaining men were ragged and bloodied too and were using the lull chance to rest against the walls. Forge was thankful that they hadn’t just grabbed a small mantlet as protection and used their numbers to force their way in. It’s what he would have done. As Forge and the others looked on, their comrades hauled the bodies back out of the entrance. Outside there were more voices and movement. Forge stole a quick look but saw only a crowd of Harradan gathered waiting for something. He quickly pulled back as an arrow shot past his head.

  “Shit! Right, find something to block this doorway with. Quickly, whilst we go a chance,” he ordered. His men ran to manoeuvre an empty barrel into the entrance.

  Lode poked his head down the hatch way.

  “They’re going to try and smoke us out!” he shouted.

  At that, a large bundle of brush was thrown into the tower before his men had put the barrel in place. The brush bundle had been lit deep within its centre and was starting to smoke heavily. Another followed it, then a third. One of the soldiers tried to intercept this one and push it back outside. He was rewarded with an arrow in his leg.

  “Pull him back,” Forge ordered angrily. The other two pulled the wounded man away. As the smoke began to build up in the chamber his eyes began to sting. “All of you. Back up the stairs.”

  His men retreated up to the next level. They were greeted by the start of the assault on the two entrances.

  “They’re coming through up here.” Lode shouted down to Forge.

  “Then fucking kill ‘em,” he shouted back.

  A crash and further shouting told him they had broken through. The lower room was now dark and filled with the choking smoke, Forge’s vision was now severely hampered and tears were flowing. He retreated to the stairs gripping his sword in bo
th hands. He saw shapes moving through the doorway. He risked a glance upwards but could see nothing as the smoke had already spread up the stairs. He then turned back towards the Harradan who were advancing through the murk. A wave of hopelessness and defeat spread through him. There was nothing more he could do. All the men who followed him, his friends, were dead or dying. In that moment of his despair a rage burst forth. A blind anger at all that had led him and his company to this point. He cursed the Duke and cursed himself even more so. Because he could have cut and run, could have pulled back but instead he had condemned them all. With a howl of anger he launched himself at the Harradan. He charged at the first figure, using his sword as a lance thrusting it clean through the torso. He tried to pull it back but it held fast in the body. He released it and the man sunk to his knees. Forge picked up a discarded short sword and parried a blade coming at his head from above, he then brought the sword round and hacked at the legs of his attacker who fell back out of range. Forge pushed himself up and swotted away a sword aimed at his midriff. If they hit him he didn’t feel it. He slashed and hacked and stabbed at the figures he could barely see. If he killed them he didn’t care, there were always more coming through the entrance, forms made dark by the smoke or his own rage. He never heard the horns sound. He never noticed that after a time the figures stopped coming, that the fires had burnt themselves out. He certainly didn’t notice one final figure come through the doorway, a hulking brute of a man with murder on his mind and a sword swinging to strike him. Nor did he witness a smaller man come down the stairs and launch himself at the other, burying a knife deep into the Harradan’s back. Forge was discovered sitting at the back of the tower drenched in blood, with his head in his hands weeping softly.